


Dance for Them

by Firedawn (Serpyre)



Series: Don't [2]
Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Dancing, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Recovery, katherine centric, not as angsty though, slow relationship buildup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21884689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpyre/pseuds/Firedawn
Summary: Katherine had liked dancing when she was younger, no older than four or five, and merely a lily in the world’s eyes; before she had grown and had beheld the world to her lips.Or, Katherine's relationship with dancing, men, and Anna of Cleves; from the beginning.
Relationships: Anna of Cleves (Six)/Katherine Howard
Series: Don't [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576483
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	Dance for Them

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to read the previous fic to understand this one, but it'll flesh out this universe & touch on some of its themes (eg. relating to Mannox, Dereham, Henry, Culpepper) in more depth. 
> 
> **Trigger warnings for reference to/implied rape.**

Katherine had liked dancing when she was younger and merely a lily in the world’s eyes; before her mother died, before she had grown and had the world beheld to her lips.

She dances with herself, first. In her own room; where there was nobody but her reflection in the mirror to dance to. Sometimes, it was with joyous revelries; other times, it was slow, sombre, quiet. Occasionally, she had envisaged a man: of fair proportion, perhaps, well-endowed and strong, that would be a partner to her dance; of a dance that would be all hers.

She would dance, till the sun set and the night reigned; she would dance whenever she could, whenever she had wanted to. She did it because she felt like it, as a four, five-year-old child, without the rest of the world to scrutinize.

(This choice is taken away from her when she enters the house of the Dowager Duchess, and she learns about what the world wants her to be.)

.

Mannox, music teacher he was, had likened dancing to a form of art. Like you play your lute, or run your fingers over the virginals, or how you blow into flutes; they all crescendoed and culminated into a cacophonous melody, a climax that he had so loved.

Dance, he said, was your art. Katherine was an expert; his little expert, he had said, at it.

.

She had stopped dancing after that. She would only remember when she needed to, during nights when she couldn't really breathe.

But Dereham had often made her think of her memories, when he had asked her to put on little shows, whenever they had time alone. Every-time he would watch her play her role, the mistress Artemis, dance, intently, and he would devour her with his eyes; hungry, ravenous. She span some more, because she knew what would happen once she lost her beat. Every-time she bit her lip and remembered the times she was back in her room, back in her own world and alone; dancing to no-one that wanted her too.

She had stopped dancing alone after that. They had always insisted upon a partner.)

.

Anna of Cleves was a frequent partygoer. So, Katherine had always gone with her, on visits to all corners of England. Surrey, Buckingham, Northumberland, Warwickshire; anywhere there was, Anna would go.

However, Anna had never danced; she had batted away admirers, of nobles and of men. Katherine had always watched from a distance, of Anna’s resilience, of her ability to do what she wanted to; careless, and caring not, for the chivalric code.

Katherine had admirers of her own; those times, Anna would watch her instead, as she danced with them in the shadows, and they had touched her; fleeting, fast, all too cold; where no-one else could see. But Anna would always talk to her after; tell Katherine that, if she did not like it that she could say no; she could resist; if she could not, then just find her—Anna would do it for Katherine.

(There was once, before she was made anything, when Katherine had witnessed Anna of Cleves dance. She had been quick, and graceful, swaying to the band’s Germanic tune. Katherine had not thought that she had seen anything more beautiful.)

.

When Anna of Cleves falls, and Katherine is raised a Queen, visits, and parties, and all there is to see with her—are no more.

.

Henry forces Katherine to dance with him. He enjoys it, like he enjoys hunting and drinking and eating. He does it like he's putting on a show for his ministers, for the nobility; he does it every time there is a royal ceremony, a royal coronation, and there is a chance to dance.

He likes it rough. He grabs her by the hips, seizes her by the shoulders. He pulls her towards him, pushes her away, shoves her around in a twirl; he laughs to his ministers: see, look at His Majesty and his skill!

She’s dragged across the floor to his rhythm, to his beat, to the drunkenness in his eyes. Katherine struggles, of course, but the ministers just stand by. There is nothing she hears but the music and his boisterous laugh.

“May I take this dance, please?”

Anna of Cleves’ voice is hesitant. Asking. But her eyes shimmer; and Katherine nods. Anything to get out of his grip.

“Of course,” Henry says, smiling at Anna, spreading his arms. Katherine stumbles, and she dances with Anna. The music delves into a low harmony, a slow song. (She thinks, that if it were Henry instead, she would be feeling his hands dig into her shoulders, her back, his mark where he wanted it.)

Katherine puts her hands on Anna’s shoulders, on Anna’s hips. She’s soft. She can barely feel Anna’s hands on her, and she exhales a little; she is nothing like his grip.

But his linger.

They dance to the beat; to nothing more. They dance until they’re near the gardens, and that is when Katherine stumbles out of Anna’s hands. She steadies herself against the trees, feels the bark dig against her palms. Anything to relieve the feeling of— his hands, grasping her, grabbing her, wherever he wished, whenever he wished. Pain pinches her, and she feels her breaths exhale, quieter and quieter.

Anna hangs behind. Katherine doesn’t realise where she is until her voice enters her ears, a good five feet away from where she was.

“Are you alright, Katherine?”

No. Not as a Queen. Not with Henry.

“Yes,” she whispers, involuntarily. She can’t tell any of that; not as Queen, not even Anna—Anna, who she had been in-waiting to, who she had been closest to, who would understand her struggles for she was once Henry’s Queen.

What could she say? That she didn’t want to be here? As a Queen; that she didn’t want her titles, her honour, her royalty, this dignity? That she did not mean to be raised up-high; that she should not have been at all, for she had Mannox, had Dereham, had men before; had nightmares made of men.

That she feared her King?

Anna of Cleves may understand. Perhaps she would comfort her, tell her a way out; of divorce, maybe, as she had too. Of ways, of tales, maybe, that they could leave this realm; that they could go away, to somewhere far perhaps—back to Anna's home in Germany, or seek refuge in France, in anyplace else.

But it was not like before. Not when Anna would tell her anything; however blasphemous, however ridiculous, and Katherine would listen to the heavens beyond. Everything was different now. It had been different, before.

But, Katherine still adds, as quiet as a whisper, to the Queen that was once before; to a friend, once before: “Thank you.”

.

After that, Anna is at every party Katherine is in. They exchange the same pleasantries and exchange the same words. It is almost like before because Katherine watches Anna, who, in riches now and living in Richmond Court, now has more suitors than before. Anna still is resilient; and, despite herself, Katherine smiles at the sight.

Anna watches her, as well. She remains quiet, most times, for barely any men approaches Katherine anymore now that she is Queen; but Anna intercedes whenever Henry wishes to dance.

.

Anna visits Katherine during New Year’s. She arrives at Hampton Court and tries to bow to Katherine, but Katherine doesn’t let her. Anna was close to her—and she was once a Queen as well; she should not have to bow.

They dine together. Katherine talks to Anna about her life; about how she is now Queen (despite the potential tension, the latent resentment it may spring—when she reminds Anna of what she has lost. But Anna does not see it so; does not see it so, even when she asks). She talks to Anna about the Court, about how she is working to free Margaret Pole. Tells her about how Elizabeth is doing.

Anna returns in kind; tells her of her life in Richmond Palace, of the treasures and goods she now possesses. She celebrates often, hosts parties in her palace and visits other nobles. Anna invites her; _we can dance together, then,_ she suggests, a slight smile playing upon her lips, _shall we?_

She tells Katherine of her life, now; free to do what she wishes, to live as she wishes—and Katherine finds herself wanting, almost, of Anna’s life. _Dancing,_ she replies, half-made memories in her head, _I haven’t danced in a long time._

Puppies. She gives them to Anna. They were Henry’s. Henry’s gift to her. There is a golden ring, as well, that Katherine slips on Anna’s finger; that she pretends she is the one giving—and not Henry. Not Henry’s, but hers.

Anna smiles. The rare half-smile that she’s only given her. I love them, she says, softly. Thank you, Katherine.

She doesn’t say anything. But her heart rises, just a little when she approaches the dogs. She pats the puppies on the head, hesitantly, and then she enters into a rhythm.

There’s a glint in Anna’s eyes, one so soft she could barely see. Katherine finds herself smiling, a little, back.

His. No longer.

.

That same night, Anna of Cleves approaches her, amid the revelry music of the night. She takes Katherine’s hand and squeezes. “Would you like to dance?” she asks, and Katherine shrugs, half-smiling.

“It’s okay if not.”

Warmth drops off from her palm; eyes, concerned, hesitant, find hers. _You can say no,_ Katherine hears, _I don’t mind._

_I’ll still be here if not._

She takes a breath. She looks Anna in the eyes and breathes, once, twice, quietly.

“No. No. I…” and the words feel foreign on her lips, and she tests it, like stepping into shallow water, “… I want to.”

She takes Anna’s hand. She nods, confident, as her heart stutters. Anna’s eyes flick towards her in surprise, but soon, the surprise fades away.

Slowly, slowly, they ease into a beat. There are people dancing, beside them, too; but they fade away into the music, fade away until she and Anna are the only ones left on the floor. Katherine feels Anna’s hand in her hand, and they move to the sounds, as her heart thrums to the music.

They dance for the night. They dance, even after Henry has gone to bed, and the rest of the nobilities have, too. They dance; until they are the only ones left in the night.

.

They dance, as often as they can, after. Katherine anticipates Anna’s visits to Hampton; she visits Anna when Anna hosts celebrations in Richmond.

Each time, Anna holds out a hand, which Katherine takes. They dance to the music; whether joyous or sombre, whether ecstatic or quiet. They dance, and Katherine feels her life fade away, slips through her fingers and fades and fades; until she is in her room again and she’s watching herself from a mirror: she’s dancing alone, to herself, to the music only she hears.

(Until, of course, Katherine is apprehended; until, of course, she dies.)

.

Katherine sees Anna again.

She has two dogs. Scuttling around her run-down apartment, with white fur that Katherine remembers being so soft. Anna bends down and ruffles one’s hair, picks it up, turns it to Katherine, but she doesn’t make any move to touch it.

Instead, she takes in the apartment. Everything’s cluttered, in colours red and orange, reminiscent of her and Richmond Palace. There’s random colour palettes, props of pearl necklaces and silver coins, keychains of thrones and crowns. There are lilies beside her windowsill, drooping heads turned towards the slivers of light above.

There’s a laugh. Katherine looks back at Anna, and watches as the dog relentlessly licks her hand. There’s a ring on her finger. No longer made of gold.

“I’ve missed you,” Anna says, softly, after studying her eyes. Katherine chokes back a sob, because—because the memories are returning back again. Of the dances and of the music. Of beats and of hands. Of rooms.

But she doesn’t let herself speak until the sob dies in her throat, and finally, she says, just as quietly: “I’ve missed you, too.”

.

They go to bars, to places with dance-floors, to parties. It’s the same as the 16th Century was, with just as many people, but with more lights, stronger beats, and much more life. Music thrums in Katherine’s ears, and often, she closes her eyes and loses herself to the world.

She dances with Anna. They go in, hand-in-hand, and Katherine usually doesn’t let go; but neither does Anna, who holds onto her through the music. They dance together, and sometimes if Katherine is brave enough, she lets go and dances—to herself, again.

(She never thought she would before.)

.

It’s night when Anna approaches her again. They’re outside the bar, beside the pool, inside a garden again. Katherine watches Anna as she slows in her steps, and she stops.

There’s a smile pulling her lips, one that reminds her of the times before; when she’d listened to Anna rant about Henry, when they saw each other in celebrations, when they were together in the bars, when Katherine had watched Anna dance, alone, amid music that was hers.

Her hands clasped behind her, she turns her head slightly to Katherine. They fall back to her side, after Katherine cocks her head at her. Then, softer, she asks: “do you want to dance?”

Anna’s eyes glisten under the starlight when Katherine takes her hand.

“Yes,” she replies, with a small smile. “Yes.”

(They dance together. That is the same night that they kiss under the starlight; and then, the world fades away. Until they're the only ones left again.)

.

It is a process. There are times when Katherine dances, when Anna can hold her hand, when Katherine can kiss her and feel happy for hours after.

But sometimes, Anna’s hand resting on her shoulders remind her all too much of Mannox, of Dereham, of Culpepper, of Henry—and then she has to move away, remind herself to breathe—to breathe again. Sometimes, she secludes herself; after nightmares, after she feels as if her body has been razed and she sheds her skin like a jacket; _gone, not here, not happening to her._

But Anna does not mind. She is her friend, first, during those times. Anna comforts her; cares about her; wants, expects nothing from her. And when Katherine cannot take that—not because she doesn’t trust her but because it feels too much like Dereham, like Mannox, like Culpepper in the moment—Anna understands and keeps her distance. Nothing more until Katherine nods and tells her it’s okay again.

It is a process; perpetual, painful, potent. It is vicious, and she tells herself she will get better. She tries. Some days, it does not. She sees Henry and Culpepper and the rest of them again—and then she can’t be touched, or else they’ll come back again; ghosts, grabbing her by the hands, the hips, the lips. She locks herself in her room and only lets Jane enter during those days.

But some days, it does. Some days, she can go to bars, to places with Anna, and go on trips and do whatever they want together. Sometimes, they kiss; sometimes, they hold each other’s hand, a reminder of each other’s presence together. Some days, she dances in her own room, like she’s four, five again; but now to her own music, to an imaginary stage. To a beat hers.

And the days that it does are enough.

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi again! Please keep reading too :)
> 
> I wanted to write this, as I wanted to explore Katherine and Anna’s relationship a little more, before and after reincarnation. Historically: Katherine and Anna have danced together, which is why I’ve centred it around dancing. For the New Year’s scene, Chapuys states, in his letter to the Queen of Hungary, that ”[…] after the King had retired, the Queen and lady Anne danced together…” and it was also written about by Marillac. By a few accounts, Katherine had enjoyed dancing, though she had taken dance lessons when she was younger and was often distracted. But mostly I focused on the dancing as a unifying theme for the story (chronicling K and A’s relationship). I decided to make it mostly subconscious (pre-K's death, with the ring), and manifesting post-reincarnation, mostly due to the era and the 1533 Buggery Act which would've turned this fic into another one (eg. homophobia) entirely, which isn't exactly the focus of this fic. 
> 
> When Katherine references shedding her body like a jacket, it's a reference to a line in Miller's letter to Brock Turner ("I wanted to take off my body like a jacket and leave it at the hospital with everything else."). The letter is incredibly powerful and that I strongly suggest everyone read it [here](https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/katiejmbaker/heres-the-powerful-letter-the-stanford-victim-read-to-her-ra). 
> 
> This is a series now, called "Don't". It’ll mostly be focused on Katherine, and will be from her perspective. Although the parts so far are rather historical, the latter parts won’t be as much. 
> 
> This is a little lighter than the previous fic, and the next fic’ll be lighter still (though… it might get a bit too light for this universe, so I might be throwing it out there as a fluffy oneshot). Please leave a comment (or talk to me at @firedawnd on Tumblr!) letting me know what you thought, maybe how it compared to the last fic. Constructive criticism is always welcome!


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